


Organic Marmalade

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: ... in which Tilly eats a lot of marmalade and Killian finds out that he’s not the only one who likes the farmer’s market. (The timeline may not fit with the show’s timeline but let’s be real, nobody’s keeping track of time this season anyway.)





	Organic Marmalade

Killian didn’t really think it through, inviting Tilly to stay with him. He’s lived alone for as long as he can remember, though he thinks, sometimes, there might have been... people. Once. A long time ago.

Tilly is a force of chaos in his small apartment, but somehow, she fits right in. He never thought about making it feel more homey until she’s got her feet up on the coffee table and evicts two of the grey cushions from the couch.

She stills, very suddenly. Drops her feet back to the ground. Winces. “Sorry.”

“What?” He shakes his head, gesturing a little randomly. “No, no, by all means, it’s fine.”

And he sits down in the armchair, and puts his feet up on the table, and grins at her until she grins back and puts her feet back up. He notices holes in both of her stockings, and makes a mental note for his next shopping list.

The list grows steadily over the next couple of hours, as he realises that he’s woefully unprepared for any kind of company. He really ought to fix that.

Still, Tilly doesn’t seem to mind. “You have _tea_?” she asks, delighted, when he offers.

She’s even more delighted when he orders pizza for dinner. By the end of the week, she’s polished off the bread and the marmalade he had left, so it’s high time for a shopping trip.

Who knew one person could eat so much marmalade?

It’s not easy to find the stuff in Hyperion Heights. In fact, as Killian peruses the shelves in the supermarkets, a lot of things suddenly fall short. The lettuce is showing signs of wilting, the apples’ best days are definitely behind them...

Tilly deserves better than this. Marmalade isn’t the healthiest food as it is, so perhaps it’s all for naught, but he knows that Sabine swears by organic ingredients and she knows about food.

He heads to the Farmer’s Market.

He’s been there before, and he wants to love it, but finds himself ambivalent. He loves the bustle and the different smells weaving enticingly through the air, watching the kids run around and beg their parents for freshly-baked pastries or small gifts, exchanging smiles with strangers as they pass each other.

But then there’s the apple stall, with the pretty, vivacious young lady who always knows his order and presses a free sample on him. He knows what her smile means, and he hates the brief flutter of panic it causes.

Eagle Scout, the guys call him. Rogers the weirdo, with his dedication and his refusal to drink and his obliviousness to female attention. With a face like his, he should—he should—

But he doesn’t. He’s not sure why. He’s not inexperienced, he’s not scared, he’s just... not in the mood. It feels too much like there’s a hammer hanging over him, waiting to drop.

They don’t know, yet, that he’s invited Tilly to stay with him. He hopes they never find out. He can imagine the comments, and the mere thought is enough to turn his stomach.

There’s a lady next to him in line at the preserve stand, a little girl at her side. Bouncing on her feet in some dance of her own devising, the girl backs right into him, stepping on his foot.

She looks up, eyes wide with fright.

“It’s all right,” he tells her.

She presses herself into her mother’s side. The sight makes his chest ache, though he couldn’t say why. The mother looks down at the girl, then up at him—then a startled double-take.

“She misstepped,” he says quickly. “She was expecting solid ground, and got my foot instead. It’d frighten anyone.”

It takes the woman a moment to get it, then she smiles, looking relieved. “Right. Sorry. Jessie? You wanna say sorry?”

There’s a small “sorry” from below.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Though I must compliment your aim.”

“Oh my god.” The woman laughs. “I really am so sorry. I’m Karen, by the way. And this is Jessica.”

“Rogers,” he says, shaking her hand.

“I’m _Jessie_ ,” the girl says, with a scowl at her mother. “Just Jessie.”

“Right you are, _Just Jessie_ ,” he says with a grin. “Are you a dancer, then?”

Jessie nods, delighted. “Yeah! I’m gonna dance in our school play. I’m gonna be the flower fairy. My teacher says I’m really good already.”

“From the little I saw, I’d say she’s right,” he tells her, even though his only real impression was the dull pain in his toes. But it gets him another bright smile from the girl, and something about it just lights him up, knowing that he’s made her happy.

“Thank you,” Karen says in a low voice as Jessie spins away again. “She’s been super excited about this play, and she gets carried away.”

“I quite understand,” he says. And then he looks at her, at her smile, the spark in her eyes, the way her gaze flicks ever-so-briefly to his ring-less hand. There’s more than just a note of speculation there, and his heart pounds in his ears as he realises what he’s just done. He knows that look. He knows it far too well, and it never fails to put him on edge.

No one at the precinct can understand why he makes friends so quickly without trying, why people, especially women, notice him when he does nothing to encourage it.

It’s the face, they say. And maybe it is. He doesn’t have any working theories himself. It just happens.

He knows what’s coming—she’s going to give him her number, or ask for his, or there’ll be some kind of invite to sample one of the culinary delights of the market—and he has yet to find a good way of letting a lady down. He’s bracing himself when—

“Hey!” comes a voice from behind him. It’s cheerful and melodious, and there’s only one like it. He knows it’s Sabine before he even starts turning to see her walking towards him.

He can’t help the grin that tugs at his mouth. “Hello. How’s business?”

“Booming.” Her smile is blinding, lighting up her entire face. Her dark curls frame her delicate features perfectly, bouncing as they catch the sunlight. She’s dressed in a simple blouse and jeans, and he’s struck, as always, by how she manages to lend every outfit a sense of elegance. She’s always radiant, even with her hair frizzed and face flushed from the heat of the fryer in her food truck.

Killian wonders if he should introduce her to Tracy—wasn't it Tracy?—but she has turned away already, to give her order to the man behind the counter. Relief washes over him.

“Excellent,” he says. “I, ah, didn’t know you come here.”

“Every week,” Sabine says brightly. “Best place to get fresh ingredients. Speaking of...” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “I’d better get in line.”

“No need,” he says quickly. “I’m already here. We can order together, if you like.”

“Yeah?” She cocks her head to the side until he nods, then lifts one shoulder to nudge his, smiling all the wider. “Okay then.”

Tracy disappears with one last smile, this one rather less speculative than before. Bullet dodged.

“You okay?” Sabine asks, her voice gentle. “You looked a little trapped back there.”

He swallows. “It seems I gave the lady the wrong impression.” He gestures her ahead of him to the counter.

“I guess that’s a pitfall of coming here, huh,” Sabine says, in between negotiating for conserves.

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” She gestures vaguely at him, and around the market. “Handsome single guy, farmer’s market... it’s open season on guys like you around here. No wonder you looked hunted.”

_Hunted_. That’s a good word for it, he thinks. Though what possible reason he has to feel that way... it isn’t as though he’s dealing with monsters. And yet, it often feels that way, like he’s heading for the edge at the call of a siren, only to be faced with a monster.

Which is _ridiculous._

“Handsome?” he echoes, both to distract from the subject of hunting and because it’s intriguing, coming from her.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I know you own a mirror.”

He laughs. The way she says it, like it’s just fact, it sounds a lot less... speculative.

When they’ve both ordered, and he takes the rather heavy bag the man hands him, Sabine watches, her eyebrows raised. “That’s a lot of marmalade.”

“Aye. Tilly’s been staying with me.” The words are out before he’s thought it through, propelled by instinct, or maybe trust.

Sabine frowns. “Tilly?”

It occurs to him that Sabine doesn’t know Tilly. He’s not sure why that comes as a surprise. It’s pretty stupid to assume that everyone knows Tilly, and yet he can’t imagine _not_ knowing her. “She’s been helping me with a case, and I just... she needed help, so I offered her a place to stay. It isn’t anything... _untoward_ ,” he hurries to say, “I just feel responsible for her.”

He still doesn’t know where the urge to defend himself against accusations of being a ladies’ man comes from. He’s never been particularly charming, or forward, or charismatic. And yet...

And yet, the idea of it hovers like a spectre at the back of his mind. And every time he goes anywhere, women pay attention, and the guys make comments.

“I get it,” Sabine says. “It’s good of you to take her in.” She looks like she means it.

“Aye, well, she goes through a glass of marmalade quicker than anyone I’ve known,” he says, hefting the bag. “I figured I’d better stock up.”

Sabine laughs. “Wow. You came all the way here just for marmalade?”

He shrugs. “I believe you’re the one who said organic is superior.”

Surprise flashes in her eyes, and then they soften, along with her voice. “I did say that. Yeah.” She clears her throat, and crinkles her nose in another teasing, blinding smile. “Organic is the way to go.”

“Aye, so I’m told,” he says, smiling back. They’ve fallen into step, meandering through the market, and he has no idea where he’s actually going. “How about you? Have you much to procure?”

“Oh yeah.” She heaves a sigh. “Believe it or not, a food truck goes through supplies pretty quick, too.”

It’s natural, after that, to offer his assistance. He helps Sabine carry various bags and boxes to her car, while she listens to his stories about Tilly and shares some rather hilarious customer encounters with him. A friendly stall owner who seems to know Sabine offers them free samples of chocolate fudge, which they eat while enjoying one last stroll through the market.

It really is a lovely place.

When he gets home and Tilly sees all the marmalade, her eyes grow wide, and she grins at him, and it might just be the highlight of what has been a pretty damn good day. She immediately tries some, and loves it, grinning at him again through a messy mouthful.

He’s going to need more of it pretty soon. Which means another trip to the farmer’s market.

After all, organic marmalade is definitely the way to go.


End file.
